


siren song

by kirkaut



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirkaut/pseuds/kirkaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you trust me?” Eggsy asks, and knocks his forehead against Harry’s. The boat rocks violently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	siren song

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt sent to me on tumblr by bruises-for-tomorrow
> 
> hope you enjoy it! this got way out of hand lol

 

 

“Do you trust me?” Eggsy asks.

 

 

ooo

 

 

A silver tongue; that’s what they called it. The gift of gab, a smooth talker, a wordsmith. Eggsy’s heard it all, ever since he was a little kid, and none of those played out titles have ever come close to the truth of the matter. 

It came in handy, sometimes - when Dean would raise a hand to his mum and Eggsy would cry out, stilling the raised first before it had a chance to fall. All he would truly gain from that was Dean’s ire turned towards Eggsy himself, blows raining down on his curled up body, weakly crying out for him to stop.

He wasn’t strong enough, then, to put an end to the violence completely. But he was strong enough to abate it, to reduce it, if only for a little while. And for the time being, that would have to be enough. 

His teachers would eye his bruises suspiciously, but would find themselves distracted mid-question by the curious melodic hum ringing through their ears. Any thoughts of child services, of removing Eggsy from his mum, would vanish, and a blink later all was forgotten.

“You have to be more careful, Eggsy,” his mum had pleaded tearfully, the first time she ever caught him at it. “Please, babe, I can’t lose you, too. They’ll take you away if they hear you.”

_ They _ \- the mysterious other half of his family, whom his mother spoke of rarely and not without a dose of fear. Eggsy didn’t want to go into the Fathom, didn’t want to go with Them into the below-place. 

He nodded and hugged his mum, and Sang only when he needed.

 

 

ooo

 

 

“Do you trust me?” Eggsy asks, and knocks his forehead against Harry’s. The boat rocks violently.

 

 

ooo

 

 

When Eggsy turns 21, he goes to sleep with the small telly in his room on, and wakes up with a Song in his throat and his mum’s hand clamped tightly across his mouth.

“Hush,” she soothes, and Eggsy feels sick when he notices the cotton stuffed into her ears, the lingering dazed look in her eyes. His own gaze darts fretfully to her stomach, the rounded curve of it where it’s swelling with his little sister. “Don’t worry, babe,” she whispers, leaning forward to brush a kiss against his forehead. “You wouldn’t ever hurt me. Or the baby.”

Eggsy swallows down the melody, feels it rattle sullenly against his ribs on the way down. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, throat feeling raw. 

His mum shakes her head and grasps his hand between both of her own. She lays it on the side of her belly. There’s a small hummingbird movement beneath his palm, and he stares at his hand in wonder. 

“I think it was a lullabye,” his mum whispers, careful to keep her voice pitched low. She’s aware of the early hour, the thin walls, and Dean’s light sleeping habits and his hot temper. “Your Song...it was a lullabye.”

Eggsy can hear it now, in the thrum of his own heart and in the love he feels for his baby sister, still unborn. “A lullabye,” he agrees.

His soul sings with it.

 

 

ooo

 

 

“Do you trust me?” Eggsy asks, and knocks his forehead against Harry’s. The boat rocks violently against the wake left by another, the acrid scent of their destroyed motor in the air around them. Their target is quickly gaining distance.

Harry takes a breath.

 

 

ooo

 

 

Five weeks - five measly fucking weeks - after Daisy comes into the world, Eggsy breaks his promise to his mum and Sings.

It’s an ugly, angry sound, ear piercing and shrill and everything that Eggsy has feared about himself for so long.

His mum is still crumpled on the floor, in the same spot Eggsy had found her when he’d walked into the flat, but Dean is no longer poised threateningly above her.

He’s swaying on his feet, staring at Eggsy with the glassy eyes of someone who’s been Lured, who’s heard the call directed their way and is helpless to succumb. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” he snarls, and the words are layered and lilting with the song. He sounds hollow, like a thousand different voices all coming through at once, each one reedy and melodious. “Get the fuck away from me, and my mum and Daisy, and never show your  _ fucking  _ face near us again. You get me?”

Dean nods, face purpling and eyes beginning to bulge ever so slightly, but Eggsy holds him in the Lure a little while longer, until sweat begins to bead heavily across Dean’s brow. 

“You’ll send money once a month,” he hisses, “and you’ll never come after my family again.”

It’s not a request or a demand. Dean has no choice.

It’s a Song, and that’s as good as iron-clad.

 

 

ooo

 

 

“Do you trust me?” Eggsy asks, and knocks his forehead against Harry’s. The boat rocks violently against the wake left by another, the acrid scent of their destroyed motor in the air around them. Their target is quickly gaining distance.

Harry takes a breath. “With my life,” he says, honestly and without hesitation. He thumbs at the sharp cut of Eggsy’s jaw. 

Eggsy lets out a rush of air from his lungs and darts forward, lips meeting Harry’s in a desperate kiss. 

He pulls back far enough to whisper, “Then let me go.”

 

 

ooo

 

 

Eggsy is 22, and goes to sleep feeling anxious but confident that he’s done the best thing he could think of for his small family by cashing in that favour promised to him by a stranger seventeen years ago.

A job, he’d asked for, and a shot at one - however unconventional - was what he got.

Eggsy goes to sleep feeling only slightly restless, and wakes to the shock of cold water lapping at his chest and a familiar sharp tingle up and down his legs.

He shoots up and hits the lights, body curled into itself and every bit of his energy focused on keeping himself in form, on not giving in to the desperate yearning feeling building in his spine. He can hardly concentrate on what his fellow recruits are saying - Roxy and Charlie, gesturing and shouting about the toilets and showerheads - and then the water’s up to the ceiling and above his head.

Air bubbles escape his nose, lungs emptying out, but still he fights the heavy ache in his legs.

He doesn’t, however, fight the sharp splitting feeling behind his ears as the slits of his gills form, and his own safety underwater becomes much less of a pressing issue. 

He tries the door, though he doesn’t know why he thought it would open against the tonnes and tonnes of pressure put against it by the water, and when he goes to swim away he grasps Amelia’s frightened, flailing hands between his own and gives a tug. He swims towards the two way mirror, dragging her and the tangle of bedclothes she’s been caught in behind him, and deposits her next to Roxy, who immediately shares her snorkel tube with the other girl. 

All of them give Eggsy wide, panicked looks, no doubt wondering how he’s managed to hold his breath so long, but he’s got other things to be concerned with. 

He plants his feet at the bottom of the glass, and throws his weight into the punch.

“Well done, Eggsy,” Merlin commends, once the lot of them are shivering and dripping on the other side of the broken glass. “For spotting that was a two way mirror.”

“He’s probably seen enough of them,” Charlie snickers, wiping water and snot away from where it’s dribbling down his face. 

“Yes, well, unlike you, Mr. Hesketh, Eggsy also managed to see that his fellow recruit was struggling and in danger of drowning,” Merlin snaps, crossing his arms across his chest and levelling Charlie with a look that speaks volumes towards his dislike of the young man. “Which in my book, makes him the only one of  you lot that hasn’t failed your first test.”

Eggsy smiles to himself at the sour look on Charlie’s face, and at the approving nod Merlin sends his way.

His gills knit shut, and no one’s the wiser. 

 

 

ooo

 

 

“Do you trust me?” Eggsy asks, and knocks his forehead against Harry’s. The boat rocks violently against the wake left by another, the acrid scent of their destroyed motor in the air around them. Their target is quickly gaining distance.

Harry takes a breath. “With my life,” he says, honestly and without hesitation. He thumbs at the sharp cut of Eggsy’s jaw. 

Eggsy lets out a rush of air from his lungs and darts forward, lips meeting Harry’s in a desperate kiss. 

He pulls back far enough to whisper, “Then let me go.”

Harry only clutches at him more tightly, fingers digging into the back of Eggsy’s neck, before he gives a hard exhale and another rough kiss, before taking a wrenching step back.

Eggsy turns away, and dives into the choppy water.

 

 

ooo

 

 

As a reward for his success in the first task, and his truly impeccable attitude and impressive progress in the weeks of training that followed, Harry takes an unprecedented step and invites Eggsy along when he goes to confront Professor Arnold.

Arthur, from what Eggsy could gather from the brief conversation between Harry and Merlin, had thrown a proper fit over it, and had only sullenly agreed if they took the opportunity to test Eggsy on his still rudimentary surveillance skills.

Eggsy’s beginning to get the feeling that Arthur really, really doesn’t want him among the Kingsman ranks.

Still, he wanders into a Costa on a weakly sunny Tuesday morning, knapsack slung over his shoulders and looking for all the world like a Uni student in desperate need of a coffee. He taps idly on the smartphone in his hand while he waits for his order, and for Professor Arnold to finish ambling down the street, muttering to himself, and come inside for his daily cuppa. 

The second he steps into the coffee shop, Eggsy hears it: the bright, ringing trill of electronic interference. He’s come to recognise the tone of it, thanks to Kingsman, as the first hint of surveillance equipment. Something about the frequencies call out to him, his own ears sensitive to anything that may be misinterpreted as a Song, so when the ringing gets sharper the closer the Professor shuffles towards him, Eggsy can’t hold back the wince it inspires. 

His eyes dart up when the barista hands him his cup, and while he takes a sip he lets his eyes look over the crest of the lid and towards Arnold, who’s got his neck craned up towards the menu boards like he isn’t going to order the same damn thing he orders every day. 

That’s when Eggsy sees the scar, thin and white, behind his ear. Two of the professor’s fingers drift up to scratch idly at the mark, as though he can feel Eggsy’s curious gaze there, and their presence above the spot deadens the irritating shrill enough that Eggsy gets a fairly decent idea of what’s going on.

He exits Costa in a bit of a rush, quickly walking down the street and ducking into the small bookshop where Harry’s waiting. He finds his way to the man in question, flicking idly through an Ian Fleming novel, and all but shoves the cup of coffee - Harry’s order, not his own - at him. 

“We’ve got a problem,” he says, voice harried and a bit grave.

Harry frowns down at the cup of coffee. “Did you drink some of this?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy says impatiently. “But there’s bigger fuckin’ things to be going on about, bruv. Like how the Prof’s got a fucking bug implanted in his head!”

Harry pauses mid-sip, eyeing Eggsy curiously over the lip of the cup. “How do you know that?” he asks slowly, lowering the coffee and slipping the book in his hand back into its place on the shelf. 

“I,” Eggsy flounders. “I can’t...bruv, I can’t explain it, not really - not yet,” he amends, at Harry’s furrowing brows, “But. Trust me, Harry, don’t go and talk to ‘im without one of them EMP’s Merlin’s showed us.”

Harry just continues to give him that deep, assessing look for an uncomfortable few minutes before he heaves a heavy sigh through his nose. “Alright,” he concedes, and takes another sip of coffee. “But you must promise to explain to me how you were able to figure this out, when all is said and done.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy says, nearly wilting with relief. Something about the tone of the device in Professor Arnold’s neck had set his own song on edge, uncomfortable like a threat was being made. “Yeah, ‘f course.”

 

 

ooo

 

 

They’re off the coast of Florida, hunting down a drug lord, when they’re forced to climb aboard a speedboat and take off into the Gulf waters and chase him down. Harry had looked a bit queasy when Merlin had relayed to them, over their comms, that the waters themselves were unusually infested with sharks at the present time, but Eggsy had showed no such hesitation and had simply demanded radar tracking to be broadcasted to the HUD of their glasses. 

They’re catching up, boat cresting the minor waves of the gulf and nearly parallel with their target’s boat, when someone on board points a fucking harpoon gun straight at them and fires.

Eggsy and Harry hit the deck, but there’s the ugly hiss and wrench of their motor coming loose, the terrible splintering sound of it dislodging from their boat completely, and the distant manic laughter as the other boat zips quickly away.

The harpoon gun and their destroyed engine sink quickly to the bottom.

Eggsy scrambles to his feet and braces one on the edge of the boat, preparing himself to dive into the dangerous waters.

Harry’s hands fist into the back of his suit jacket and haul him back, forcibly turn him around. Harry digs his fingers into the back of Eggsy’s head and shakes him tightly. “What the bloody fuck are you thinking?” he shouts, eyes fear-bright behind his glasses.

Eggsy takes a few calming breaths, inhaling the salty air and relishing in the spray of the water against his face. His legs are burning, aching with the need to dive into the water and change, to give chase, heedless of any dangers lurking below the surface.

He takes another deep breath, and - 

“Do you trust me?”

 

 

ooo

 

 

Harry uses the EMP, as promised, and Professor Arnold quickly spills the beans once he’s confronted and realises the true meaning of facing charges of treason against the crown, and against the world.

He allows Merlin to remove the device from his neck, to deactivate it and study it, in exchange for the guarantee of a safehouse and everything he knows about Richmond Valentine’s odious plans for a worldwide culling. 

Eggsy’s aware of all of this in a peripheral sense, too busy with his own training and advancement among the recruits, and far too occupied with the graceful line of Harry’s body in a suit and the way his hands are careful and steady when he takes Eggsy into the shop for measurements. 

It’s a bit distressing, really, when he realises that the tight feeling in his throat whenever Harry’s around isn’t just the usual gutting feeling of developing an infatuation, but is instead his body thrumming with a melody meant for Harry and Harry alone.

Harry, with his cheeky smiles and acerbic wit. Harry, with his filthy mouth and false modesty and the proud gleam in his eyes whenever he says something truly horrific that sends Eggsy into fits of laughter. Harry, with the deeply carved dimples in his cheeks and the way he tilts his head when he’s listening intently.

A melody, Eggsy realises as he swallows it down for the thousandth time when Harry gives him a gentle smile, isn’t really quite the right word.

It’s a love Song.

 

 

ooo

 

 

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Then let me go.”

Eggsy turns away, and dives into the choppy water.

He sheds his trousers and his shoes, quickly as he can, and doesn’t spare a thought to the expense of them as they sink below him.

He turns his concentration inwards, and lets himself do what he hasn’t done in ages: he listens to the hum of his body, to the creak of his bones and the whisper-rush of water through his gills, and allows himself to transform.

Scales ripple up from beneath his skin, replacing flesh and hair with something more dynamic. His knees fuse together beneath the mossy green-blue shine of them, feet pointed apart and quickly becoming encased in the slick fish skin of his father’s people. 

Fins burst from the skin of his forearms, from the crest of his ears, fanning out. A larger fin ripples its way out from the skin of his back, tracing along his spine and disappearing not long after the slope of where his arse used to be. 

He feels his body lengthen, feels it change, until he’s just as much a part of the water as any other creature that finds its life here in the below-place, in the Fathom.

He swims upwards and breaks the surface, if only to give Harry a visual assurance that he’s all right. He meets the older man’s astonished gaze with his own, and sends out a small song of reassurance. 

_ I’ll explain later _ , he promises, and when Harry gives a shocked nod of understanding, he dives back down and follows the residual echo of the other boat’s motor.

He flicks his tail, and gives chase.

 

 

ooo

 

 

Through a series of chaotic and downright dangerous events, Eggsy and Roxy and Charlie rise to the top of the ranks of their class.

Through a series of traitorous decisions, the current Arthur falls on his own sword.

It happens all too suddenly - Professor Arnold, wandering across the grounds of the Manor with Harry and one of the pups that had gone unclaimed all those weeks ago, had stumbled across Chester King for the first time, and had given him a look of wide-eyed recognition that had been impossible to mistake for anything but fear.

“You,” he’d breathed, shuffling back to hide behind Harry and pointing a shaking, accusatory finger Chester’s way. “I know you! Valentine has you in his pocket!”

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Chester had said stiffly, but when he’d turned to walk away, Harry had caught sight of the thin scar behind his ear.

It had been a coincidence, in the end; Chester, a part of Old Money and appealing to Valentine in the way that all those with privilege and power were, had been easily ensnared by his scheme to rid the world of all those deemed unworthy. Professor Arnold had recognised him from Valentine’s bragging presentation on all those who had already agreed to support him from within the British upper-upper-class, and thus began the unraveling of nearly a year of deception and lies.

Valentine is summarily arrested and imprisoned, a detrimental amount of evidence against him provided by Professor Arnold and all those he had named and Kingsman had cajoled into a more reasonable way of thinking.

The news outlets have a riot for weeks and weeks on end when it goes public that the world’s most philanthropic genius had been quietly plotting to decimate the population and world leaders are stripped of power and detained for their involvement in the plot.

Imprisoned beneath Kingsman HQ, in a cell that ensured no transmission of messages between Chester and the outside world, their fallen King remained. Which meant that there was a new seat to be filled at the head of the table, and Harry found himself summarily voted into its embrace by his peers.

In the aftermath of the train test, with Charlie sputtering and swearing even as his sponsor was jailed and he himself failed the most basic test of loyalty, only Roxy and Eggsy were left.

“Two positions to be filled,” Merlin said, swiveling about in his chair. Eggsy winces at the sound, ears still sensitive and body still tightly strung with a Song of fear, the whistle of a train bearing down, and -

Harry’s hand slides across his shoulder, centering him with a squeeze. 

“This is unconventional, at best,” Merlin admits, removing his glasses and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “But I daresay the two of you have your pick: Lancelot, or Galahad.”

Roxy and Eggsy exchange a look between them, and it’s an easy choice.

 

 

ooo

 

 

Eggsy swims, fast as he can manage and even faster than that, and catches up to the boat in a span of only a few minutes. They’ve slowed down significantly, cocky in the removal of Eggsy and Harry from their trail, and Eggsy slips along through the water behind them, following them carefully until they slow completely and come to a stop. 

Through the muffled filter of the water, Eggsy can hear their raucous laughter, the clink of bullets, and the mumble of their conversation. He swims up to the surface, face breaking through the water.

He channels all the energy of the water around him, the feeling building in his gut and in his spine and in his soul, and opens his mouth to sing.

 

 

ooo

 

 

“Galahad,” Harry murmurs into the curve of Eggsy’s neck that night, hands large and warm at the jut of his hips, smoothing up to the gentle dip of his waist. “I like the sound of that.”

“I prefer Eggsy,” he says breathlessly, fingers tangling in the button fly of Harry’s trousers. Adrenaline has his heart pumping, and the love Song is clogging up his throat, making him rasp. “Wanna hear that name on your lips when I make you come, yeah?” He skims his mouth up the line of Harry’s neck, nibbling at the arch of it and feeling the way his throat bobs beneath his tongue when Eggsy slips a hand into Harry’s pants.

“Eggsy,” Harry agrees on a moan, and drags his palms down to grip at the swell of Eggsy’s arse.

Eggsy kisses him, open mouthed and filthy, before the Song can burst out of him the way it so desperately wants to.

 

 

ooo

 

 

In the most unprecedented end to a case in Kingsman history, the third most notorious drug lord in North America - who’d only just begun to expand his empire into England - finds himself compelled to turn himself in to the proper authorities.

Not only that, but he turns himself in with full documentation of all of his shady bank accounts, every known associate under his thumb, and the location of every single drug facility he owns.

The U.S. Government hardly knows what to do with the information, flailing about on themselves in the wake of a decade long investigation come to a screeching halt. 

The secret service known as Kingsman is generously compensated for their contribution.

The reality of the drug lord’s motivation remains a secret, clasped closely to the chest by all those who hold Eggsy Unwin dear.

 

 

ooo

 

 

In the wake of an hours long and exhausting explanation, Eggsy curls into a ball on the sofa in Harry’s front room, fingers massaging at the headache that’s building in his temples. A steaming cup of tea appears beneath his nose, followed quickly by two small tabs of paracetamol. He takes both in his hands with a grateful look towards Harry, who perches himself in a nearby armchair.

“You...sing,” Harry says slowly, after a few moments of silence. “And you can make someone do your will.”

Eggsy sighs into the steam of his tea. “It ain’t as easy as all that,” he says. “But, yeah. Basically.”

Harry’s brows knit together. He looks tired without the gentle gleam of his glasses lenses to hide the bruises exhaustion has left beneath his eyes. Eggsy’s stomach rolls unpleasantly, a sad Song building in his gut.

“I’ve never,” he starts, leaning forward abruptly and splashing hot tea all over his hands. He sets the cup on a small side table with a quiet swear and wipes his hand across his jeans. “I’ve never done nothin’ to you,” he says seriously, urgently, needing Harry to understand. “I swear it, Harry, I ain’t ever Sung to you.”

“Have you wanted to?” Harry inquires, tilting his head and squinting at Eggsy like he’ll be able to parse the truth with simply a look.

Eggsy bites his lips. “Yeah,” he admits hoarsely. “But...not the kind you’re thinkin’ of.”

“Not...manipulation,” Harry clarifies slowly.

Eggsy shakes his head. “Nah. I...I try not to, y’know? I don’t like it...scares me, if I’m bein’ honest. Having that much power over someone. So. Yeah, I try not to Sing like that. But that ain’t how I ever wanted to Sing to you.”

There’s a shift of fabric, a rustle of motion, and the dip of the sofa as Harry moves from the armchair and into the spot beside Eggsy. “And...how did you wish to Sing to me?”

Eggsy feels the violent blush as it spreads heat across his cheeks, atop his ears, and down his neck. He fidgets and stares down at his hands, curled tightly over his knees.

“Ah,” Harry whispers, understanding heavy in the single exhalation. “I think I understand.” 

A long fingered, gentle hand slips over the top of one of Eggsy’s own.

“I’d like to hear it,” Harry says, and when Eggsy’s head darts up, shocked, he presses a dry and achingly sweet kiss to the apple of his cheek. “I’d love to hear it,” he amends, and raises his other hand to press his thumb into the space between Eggsy’s bottom lip and the jut of his chin.

Eggsy’s mouth lifts into a smile.

His lips part on an indrawn breath, and with Harry’s gorgeous, much loved face inclined closely towards his own, he Sings.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'send me prompts,' I said. 'i'll write some ficlets,' I said.
> 
> I can't write ficlets, i'm a liar


End file.
